


A Song For You

by lost_stickie_note



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: #ZhangjingsBirthdayWeek, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_stickie_note/pseuds/lost_stickie_note
Summary: Zhangjing's Birthday Fic Countdown d-7Yanjun writes Zhangjing a song.#ZhangjingsBirthdayWeek





	A Song For You

**Author's Note:**

> #ZhangjingsBirthdayWeek
> 
> I will be dropping a fic every day until Zhangjing's birthday! I love him so much hehe. This is the first one (d-7), and I hope you all enjoy + think it's cute. Excuse any mistakes. More to come!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta-reader, you know who you are. :)
> 
> Follow me on Twitter: [@loststickienote](https://twitter.com/loststickienote) for updates, randomness, etc. or to scream at me about 9% :o DMs always open. I am gifting a fic to someone on Twitter for hitting 100 followers on Twitter, so check it out!

Yanjun watches from back stage, the shadows enveloping him, making him invisible to the crowd that is staring in rapture at the boy on stage. He is angled slightly, just able to catch sight of Zhangjing from where he is standing, part of the front, but mostly the back. The older boy is perched on a chair, his body leaning forward, just grasping the edge. Zhangjing is dressed simply—he always is—a plain light-blue shirt, black skinny jeans, and shiny black shoes. Sometimes their stylist tries to play around with their outfits, mixing and matching different items, but she always leaves Zhangjing’s outfits alone.

 

It’s better to be simple, she says, staring at the older boy thoughtfully.

 

But Yanjun thinks it’s because Zhangjing is perfect the way he is. He doesn’t need to wear anything special to draw more attention.

 

His voice is enough.

 

He remembers the first time he heard the older boy sing. He had been practicing his dancing late at night in one of the practice rooms at the company. Nighttime was one of his favorite times to practice, the rooms having emptied out, the building quiet and calm. It was a time where he could slip in and out unnoticed, and there were no prying eyes to pick at mistakes. He was alone the first week, but the second week, the unmistakable sound of a second human being appeared.

 

In the form of singing.

 

It was so sweet that Yanjun stopped his practice and closed his eyes to listen for a while.

 

And the days passed by with Yanjun practicing his dancing to the sound of the other boy’s voice, familiar and comforting after a while. It wasn’t until group evaluations that Yanjun found out who the voice belonged to.

 

He didn’t realize that such a big voice could come from such a small boy.

 

“Hi, I’m Lin Yanjun, and you’re the voice I’ve been hearing.”

 

A wide gummy smile.

 

“I’m You Zhangjing. Are you the one making all the racket dancing in the other room?”

 

Within ten minutes, it felt like he had known the other boy forever.

 

The other boy is leaning forward more now, and Yanjun can see the curve of Zhangjing’s back as he sings, voice pushing out a melody that floats out into the audience, wrapping them up in a current, bringing them along for a ride that only Zhangjing knows the ending to. And he smiles seeing the older boy’s other hand come up as he sings, gracefully tracing out whatever image Zhangjing is holding in his head.

 

He had asked once what Zhangjing did to get the emotion just right in a song. The older boy had stared upwards, lost in thought, and for a moment, Yanjun felt that he wasn’t going to get an answer. The response came out in a long exhale, almost a sigh. “I see…colors, I guess.”

 

Yanjun had looked at the other boy questioningly. “So like, each part of a song has a different color. Sometimes when I get to an especially sad part, it feels like a deep blue-black, like the calm of a hidden lake, the surface glassy and smooth but the water is murky.”

 

“Or like a bright part would be a grassy green, like a field that stretches for miles and miles that you can run through with the wind catching the ends of your fingertips.” Zhangjing shook his head. “I don’t know quite how to describe it.”

 

For Yanjun, the other boy is all yellows and pinks.

 

Zhangjing is standing up now, his voice rising in a swell that stops time, and everything is silent, still. And the only sound filling the room is the older boy’s voice, starting off thin, just cracking the air, until the note becomes fuller and fuller, ripping through the silence. Yanjun closes his eyes, letting the wave wash over him, letting Zhangjing’s voice fill his lungs until all he’s breathing in is the other boy.

 

He wonders if this is what forever feels like.

 

Because each time the other boy hits that note, it feels like his forever.

 

A forever type of love.

 

It was what he intended.

 

He doesn’t remember the exact moment he decided he wanted to write Zhangjing a song. Just that the thought had hovered in the back of his mind for a while after the older boy had caught him practicing his self-written songs one day. Zhangjing had sat down with him and played the piano as he sang.

 

Before he knew it, hours had passed.

 

It was funny how hours seemed like mere seconds whenever he was with Zhangjing.

 

Yanjun supposed that’s when he knew it was love, when every second moved by too quickly, and he was left grasping and trying to catch on to every little moment they shared.

 

And one day, he finally got around to it.

 

Writing a song.

 

For Zhangjing.

 

He had forced himself to sit down and start, but the first half an hour was painful. Nothing. He had stared down at the blank sheet of paper, white and accusatory. Nothing was coming to mind, and Yanjun wondered how it was that he could feel so much but at the same time express so little.

 

So he imagined.

 

Yellows and pinks.

 

Pinks and yellows.

 

And he felt like the words started spilling out on to the page, filling the white with marks of black, each mark a single instant in which he had felt he loved Zhangjing. There were a lot of instants, enough to six full pages, not including the cross-outs and parts he had revised and rearranged. Yanjun had stared at the papers with his written words in dismay. Because what he had written wasn’t a song.

 

It was a confession.

 

Six pages of longing and untold secrets that he wished he had the courage to say out loud.

 

He spent the rest of the afternoon cutting it down, reworking it into lyrics that made more sense. And the next day, he had shown the older boy, hesitantly asking whether Zhangjing wanted to sing it as a solo.

 

“Hmmm, a love song?”

 

Zhangjing had scanned the words, fingers tapping out the keys on the piano, humming along to the chords he had hastily scribbled down. It had taken another two weeks for them to work out all the kinks, before it was ready to be shown to someone that made the final decisions. And Yanjun had stood in the studio as the other boy recorded the official studio version, listening to Zhangjing give life to his confession.

 

Because that’s what Zhangjing does.

 

Gives life to things, making them brighter, both songs and people, turning others into their best selves.

 

Zhangjing is reaching the end of the song now, his voice trailing off into a nothingness that hovers in the air for a few beats before fading out in an echo. And it’s hard to believe how quiet it is for those few moments after Zhangjing’s voice disappears, a stillness that is everyone collectively holding their breath, not willing to exhale until they’re sure the magic has ended. Yanjun knows this because he is holding his breath too, holding it until the older boy breaks into a smile, not able to keep the pretense of wanting and pining in the song once he has stopped singing. The room breaks out into applause as Zhangjing walks off the stage, and Yanjun feels his palms getting sweaty, his mouth becoming dry.

 

_It’s now or never._

 

“Zhangjing, I want to talk to you.” Yanjun grabs the older boy’s arm as Zhangjing walks off stage. “It’s important.”

 

All the thoughts fly out of his head when the older boy stops to look at him expectantly. “So you know the song I wrote for you?”

 

Zhangjing laughs, amused. “You mean the one I just sang? Yes, I know it.”

 

Yanjun can feel the blush spreading over his cheeks, hot with embarrassment. “Yes, that one. Well, it’s been a year since you’ve started singing it on stage, and I think there’s something you should know.” He pauses. “It’s not just a song that I wrote for you.”

 

Another deep, deep breath.

 

“It’s a confession. A love confession. From me. To you.”

 

He doesn’t know what he expected to happen, but it certainly wasn’t this. Zhangjing is just looking at him, calmly, his eyes bright.

 

“I know.”

 

Yanjun’s breath hitches in his throat.

 

“And I’ve been singing it back to you.” Zhangjing smiles and takes a breath. “So here’s my confession. Remember how I said I see songs in colors?”

 

“Well, your song is blue, Lin Yanjun.”

 

“Because you are the color blue. From a deep, dark blue to a light, baby blue. And everything in between.”

 

“And it’s not a song you wrote for me.”

 

Zhangjing shakes his head. And Yanjun’s eyes widen, and he holds his breath once again when the older boy takes his hand, intertwining their fingers.

 

“It’s a song for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> Twitter: [@loststickienote](https://twitter.com/loststickienote)  
> Caard: [loststickienote](https://loststickienote.carrd.co/)


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